


Thirty Feet

by HowardR



Series: Mae Borowski: Constellation [1]
Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowardR/pseuds/HowardR
Summary: “You climb ten feet up a tree, and people tell you to stop. But then you get to twenty feet and people start getting impressed. And by thirty feet, there’s not much they can do to stop you.”Lori Meyers never wanted to be a hero. But the only person who might’ve fit the job had vanished, and someone had to pick up the slack and find her.
Relationships: Angus Delaney/Greggory Lee, Bea Santello & Lori Meyers, Casey Hartley & Lori Meyers, Mae Borowski & Lori Meyers
Series: Mae Borowski: Constellation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876687
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue: Not Quite Right

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Infinite Fall for making the game. 
> 
> Updates will be slow.

Lori Meyers was a tomboy.

That was just a fact, and it was something the girl in question had accepted long ago. She had met other people, and she wasn’t like them. Other tomboys, Lori supposed she meant. She had met other tomboys, and she wasn’t like them. Other tomboys were gruff and manly. Other tomboys didn’t take any shit. Other tomboys worked out, and at absolute worst they were usually athletic in frame at least. Other tomboys acted like  _ men’s men. _

Lori didn’t.

Lori acted like a boy.

It wasn’t that she wanted to  _ be _ a boy. She didn’t really want to be much of anything, honestly. She didn’t care enough to call herself ‘agender,’ and she didn’t care enough to tell people - even the people who would listen - to not call her… well, ‘her’.

There were too many words nowadays, was the problem, and she didn’t care enough to find the specific one that fit her personality and general attitude.

That’s why she just used tomboy.

She simply didn’t act in any gendered fashion. She didn’t correct people when they mistook her for a boy - though that wasn’t super common. She didn’t act like a girl, or a goth, or like much of anything really. She was a girl - she didn’t care enough to change that - but it wasn’t a defining part of her personality. Just a defining part of her genetics.

She introduced herself as Lori. When people asked if she was a girl or a boy, she said she was a girl. But if people asked her something more stupid - something like, ‘what pronoun would you like to be called by?’ - she would just say,

“I don’t really care.”

Lori cared about quite a bit.

Lori cared about Mae Borowski.

She liked Mae a lot. They had been friends a long time. Lori had been there when Mae’s best friend, Casey, had left for college - cutting ties. And Mae was there when Lori’s dad stopped putting up with her and led her to the door, in his usual gruff, uncaring way. Lori wasn’t broken up about it. She was more worried about the practical aspect, honestly.

But Mae let her stay in her room, completely free of charge. Her parents seemed more than happy to let her.

She and Mae had grown close.

She wasn’t interested in Mae. Romantically, Lori supposed she meant. She wasn’t interested in Mae romantically. She liked Mae, and the girl was attractive enough - soft, round on the edges, warm and cheerful - but she had never really liked anyone.

She supposed there was probably a word for that too.

She didn’t care enough to learn it.

She told Mae as such, and Mae had grinned happily. She had offered to look the term up for Lori, but the girl had refused in an instant. She didn’t really care.

She and Mae had a special, odd kind of bond after that.

They took pleasure in each other’s company. They slept in the same room. The same cold, drafty attic. Lori liked the sound of the trains, when it didn’t rattle her to wakefulness.

Sometimes they cuddled. Mae seemed a little touch-starved. She was very clearly someone who would end up desperately wanting a boyfriend (or girlfriend. Mae said she didn’t care if it was a boy or a girl she dated - Lori thought there might be a word for that too) just for the cuddles and sex. Just for the connection.

She seemed so desperate to have a really great friend.

That friend was Beatrice Santello, of course - a woman Lori never saw, but heard a lot about - but Mae was desperate for more than just a friend.

She was desperate for a sibling, too.

A twin came to her in the form of Gregg. Lori hung out with the two of them sometimes, when they went off to do ‘crimes’. It was fun. Lori’s cheeks hurt from smiling by the end of the night, and Mae was sore from giving her piggyback rides.

But a younger sister came in the form of Lori, and Lori was more than happy to slot into that place.

Mae was a wonderful older sister. They were so similar, which helped. Almost like siblings, in everything outside looks. Mae was so protective, too. She would listen whenever Lori ranted about movies or books or something else. She ranted a lot. Around Mae, at least.

She ranted about a lot because she was a girl of many talents. She would rant about anything, depending on what field she was currently interested in. She would rant about writing, then about screenplays, then about acting, then about cinematography, then about effects work, then about composing…

Mae told her she was multi-talented. She claimed that she was just decent at quite a few things. She didn’t really have any  _ talent. _

Mae had stared at her like she was the stupidest person on earth for a moment, before saying that she certainly wasn’t talented in recognizing genius.

Lori had furrowed her brow, confused. Mae had let it go.

Lori told Mae she loved her one night. Mae had known Lori hadn’t meant it in a romantic way.

Mae had grinned so wide, loving and happy.

“Love you too, Lori.”

Lori had fallen asleep with a smile that night.

The next day was the worst of her life. A lot of things happened that night, really.

Mae Borowski vanished. Casey Hartley came back from college. Lori caught a glimpse of something she shouldn’t have.

Lori wasn’t good at feeling things. She did feel things, but Lori thought she had been born without some key part of her. Thought that something important - something dreadfully human - had been taken from her at her birth.

She had read about the greeks. About their love, and the forms it came in. She had forgotten all the names except Eros - romantic love - but she still remembered what the forms descriptions were.

Love for a romantic partner.

Love for family.

Love for friends.

And the unconditional love of your fellow man. The desire to cause no harm.

Lori thought she might’ve been born without that last one.

No… no, that wasn’t quite right. It was more like that last one had been… warped, somehow. Like someone had left it in the oven too long, and the edges were scorched and wrong.

She was bad at feeling things. It was almost like someone had put her together, and the whole time had meant for her to be a psychopath - and then had forgotten to flip the last switch, leaving her a half-complete human shell that was never quite right.

She was meant to be a psychopath - but the things she did feel, slipping through the cracks, always burned and warped and felt so utterly painful and wrong.

Lori felt, the night Mae vanished.

Lori felt more than anyone had ever been built too - much less someone so stilted and wrong. Much less someone like her, left in the oven of creation a little too long.

Lori Meyers had been built a psychopath, and the only reason she wasn’t was because she had also been built by someone who clearly hadn’t been any good at their job.

Lori Meyers wasn’t meant to be a hero. Maybe Mae could’ve been a hero - she had the unwavering optimism and the cheerful grin, at least - but  _ her? _

Lori Meyers wasn’t meant to be a hero by any stretch of the imagination.

But with Mae gone - Mae, the one who really  _ should’ve _ been a hero - someone had to slip into her place.  


And - even though she didn’t fit cleanly - nobody else would step up but Lori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day.
> 
> I've tried to upload this a dozen times. I've failed. It's confusing. Let's hope it works this time, eh?
> 
> I'm excited to work on this. This is going to be the shortest chapter of this fic. Every one after this will probably be at lest 5k words long, probably longer.
> 
> Climbing Trees,
> 
> -Howard R.


	2. MISSING:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mania:
> 
> _noun_
> 
> mental illness marked by periods of great excitement or euphoria, delusions, and overactivity.
> 
>   * an excessive enthusiasm or desire; an obsession.
> 


* * *

**MISSING:**

_ MAE BOROWSKI (20) of Possum Spings. _

_ Last seen just past dawn on October 25th, walking along the fence   
lining the parking lots of the former Food Donkey. She was   
wearing an orange hoodie with dirty white drawstrings,   
black jeans with tears at the knees and thin leather boots. _

_ If you have any information as to the location of MAE BOROWSKI at any time   
since her last known sighting, PLEASE contact   
the Possum Springs Police Department immediately. _

* * *

That was really when it hit her.

Like a punch to the gut. But worse, really, far worse. It was more like… like some great, black beast had torn a chunk out of her stomach. Out of her  _ world. _ Had dug its claws into her little slice of heaven - perhaps not perfect, but enough for her,  _ more _ then enough - and just  _ yanked. _

She stared at the poster, and saw nothing but the bloody black hole that something had torn out of her.

Her hands tightened at the sides of it. The paper crumpled slightly.

It was just mania, really, that made her eyes instantly go wide. That made her desperately smooth out the creases like her life depended on it. The little, barely-there lines that were impending upon the image of Mae’s face on the page.

Smiling.

She was smiling.

Like she was still alive. Happy.

Like they would go down to the tracks tomorrow, just like always. Smoosh a new little metal something.

They had done a dime last time. Mrs. Borowski had punched a hole in it and Mae had put it on her key chain.

She fell to her knees, still gingerly holding the paper. She wanted to clutch it, but the images of those creases stopped her.

Her knees just… gave out.

That had never happened before, she noted distantly.

She stared at the image.

And she began to sob.

It wasn’t crying. It was  _ sobbing. _ That awful, wretched, ugly thing, that tears through your throat like daggers and pries your jaw wide.

She wailed like a dying animal, and heaved in wretched little gasps, painful and desperate.

She burrowed her face into the paper. Snot flowed from her nose.

She screamed.

It was an awful sound, that scream. It rattled her ribcage like nothing else. It made passerby glance at her, before glancing away a moment later - ashamed to see her pain.

She couldn’t see them. She couldn’t see anything.

She felt nothing but pain. Awful, throbbing, wretched pain. Empty and meaningless, because it helped no one - and yet, there was nothing to feel but pain.

It felt so awful.

It felt  _ so awful. _

_ Mae. _

Oh God,  _ Mae. _

_ Her  _ Mae.

She sobbed until there were no tears left. And then screamed until her throat couldn’t take it anymore. And then simply choked, on the streetside, unable to do any more.

Nobody tried to comfort her.

* * *

She woke up when a stranger shook her.

They scowled. Said something. That last part was more an educated guess. She couldn’t really tell.

She stared at them.

It was something about their face, she decided. Something that seemed to say that she should get up. They seemed to expect that, for some reason.

Why was she supposed to get up?

She glanced down, weakly. 

Huh.

The street wasn’t supposed to be that dark. At least, not at ten in the morning.

Weird.

She glanced up again. The stranger was still scowling. Heavily.

It didn’t look very good. Why would he do that?

She was supposed to get up.

She tried to muster up the desire to.

She failed.

She got up.

Her every movement was slow. Sluggish. Everything in her body screamed at her that it wanted to stay  _ down. _

Her mind was blank. The occasional thought darted past, short and ignored.

(At least it wasn’t Mae she thought of.)

She was standing. Apparently she had moved enough for that.

The man looked less big when she was standing. She was glad for that, maybe. He didn’t look very good big.

She stared up at him.

He was still scowling. Did he want something else?

She opened her mouth to ask.

When she spoke, though, the man didn’t seem to get it. He just looked angrier.

Huh. Weird. She had been perfectly clear, right?

Was she being rude? She didn’t think so. He must just be in a bad mood.

She turned and walked away.

Every step hurt.

Halfway there (home, she thought distantly. ‘There’ was home. She was going home, she hadn’t really thought about it, didn’t people usually think about stuff like that?) she reached up and gently touched the throbbing spot on her skull.

Ow.

Okay, she must’ve hit her head on something. The pavement, probably. That bump had been bugging her.

She should go home. Put some ice on it. That usually helped with wounds, right?

(But she was too tired. Maybe tomorrow.)

She stopped.

There was her door.

Yay. Home again.

She stood there.

...The doorknob. Right. Grab and twist. Easy.

Her hand didn’t lift.

Even that suddenly seemed like so much effort to go through.

(And for what. It’s not like Mae would be in their room.)

...

Her hand lifted slowly. Grasped the knob.

The cold felt good under her hand, even though she wasn’t quite dressed for fall. She would probably be shivering if she cared enough.

The cold grounded her.

She twisted.

“Oh! Hello!”

She turned.

...Huh.

She felt like she should recognize that face.

The boy trotted up to her happily. He had platinum blond hair and a wide, easy smile.

“Hi! Uh - you know who lives here, right?”

She stared at the boy.

...He was talking to her.

Oh. Right. Responses. That was what normal people did.

What polite people did.

(Mae always responded.)

“...Yes.” She said. Her voice came out odd - thick and scratchy.

The boy blinked.

“Uh. Cool! You wouldn’t happen to know if Mae’s home, would you? I was hoping to catch her before the day was out.”

She stared.

His grin slowly faded. He started looking awkward - standing on her doorstep.

Talking about Mae.

_ Her _ Mae.

“She’s…”

_ Gone. _

That was the right ending. Gone. She was dead, probably.

_ (The dead silent night. Moonrays, spilling like liquid. Shining eyes - maroon in the light, but red in the dark. _

_ Like always.) _

The only reason tears didn’t well in her eyes was because they were all gone.

She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

If it was out in the open - out in the air - then it would be  _ real, _ be  _ there _ in a way it hadn’t before, and she  _ couldn’t let it. _

“Missing.” She said instead.

Her voice came out dead.

“...Oh.”

The blond boy wasn’t smiling anymore.

“...Huh. Geez. That’s… terrible. How long?”

“Today.”

That was her voice.

She was answering faster. Good. The faster she answered, the shorter this conversation would be.

“...Oh.”

Again. The  _ oh. _ Lori got the feeling this boy said that a lot.

“Uh - who are you? How do you know Mae?”

She stared at the boy again.

It was getting harder to talk.

(She just wanted to  _ sleep.) _

“We’re sisters.”

Her voice didn’t waver, and for that she was grateful.

Present tense. She had to use present tense, had to make sure.

“...Sisters? Mae never mentioned a sister.” Blondie said, politely confused.

“I’m unofficially adopted. Got kicked out of home. Mae took me in.”

That was a lot of words.

She was almost proud of herself.

“Oh! Cool! Well, it’s really great to meet you then, uh - what’s your name?”

“Lori M.”

“Nice to meet you, Lori.” Blondie said, offering his hand. “I’m Casey.”

_ Casey. _

Right. Mae’s friend who left for college. She had been really broken up about that.

“Yeah.”

She went inside and closed the door firmly.

She didn’t want to talk anymore.

* * *

She stumbled into their room, trying to look at nothing.

Everything there was Mae. The mirror, peppered with stickers. The bright pink bass in the corner, cheap and untuned. The  _ Witchdagger _ poster on the wall.

Even the tiny collection of squashed metal on the counter. The only sign she even lived there, besides the sleeping bag on the floor. Even that little pile was Mae. Just Mae.

She fell onto the sleeping bag and closed her eyes. Squeezed them shut. The discomfort grounded her, more than the throbbing in her skull did.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

Just that bloody, black, gaping hole. Filling her. Spreading, like a stain.

She felt nothing but an absence. 

And the thorny pain in her ankles.

She squeezed her eyes a little tighter. She didn’t want to look at those wounds again, she had changed the bandages yesterday, why did it still hurt so much, why was there warmth seeping into her shoes.

She sat up, still trying not to look. Not to see.

She stripped off a boot.

A boot.

Mae’s old boot. Black. Too small for her, now.

She took off the other boot. Movements still painfully slow.

She massaged her ankles, and let out a little, painful gasp at the thorny heat that was  _ still there. _

She didn’t want to see that wound. Didn’t want to feel it. Didn’t want to think about it.

She should’ve never tried to climb past a barbed fence.

Was that the word? Barbed fence? It felt like there was another word for it, maybe.

(She was too tired to really try to find it.)

It must’ve been her little walk around town, that had made the wounds flare up again. She was putting pressure on them, probably. That was likely bad.

She stumbled into the bathroom, every step a rictus of agony. Got out the first aid kit from behind the mirror once more. At this rate, she was going to use up all the gauze.

_ (Mae, tending to an awful scrape she had gotten. She had never learned to ride a bike. Mae had been trying to teach her all day - mostly failing. _

_ Her hands were warm as she patched up the wound.) _

She ran hot water over the half-scabbed wound again, head falling back as a hiss of pain escaped her. The water came out rusty on the other end as she tossed the used gauze into the trash.

She should really patch up that bump on her head while she was at it.

(She didn’t.)

She dabbed away the remnants of water as gently as she could. Still, every time the towel brushed her slightly risen, ugly wounds, she hissed.

She was really glad she had taken the time to remove the broken off bits of metal last night. This would really be so much more awful if she hadn’t.

(Even though she had been  _ so _ tired last night, too.)

_ Fuck. _

She  _ really _ shouldn’t have tried to climb that fence.

_ (“What are you? _

_ “Are you really a ghost? Or just some… _

_ “Guy?”) _

She wrapped the gauze as gingerly as she could - though still tight, it had to be tight.

(Mae had taught her that.)

She stumbled back to the room again.

She forgot to look away, this time.

Everything was Mae. Another piece, another fragment.

Everything.

She didn’t  _ get it. _

_ (“TALK!!”) _

She stumbled back onto her bag.

Squeezed her eyes shut again.

Waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that the fic will not normally be this angsty.
> 
> I have very vague ideas for this fic that are really starting to come into focus with this first chapter. Now that I'm publishing this, I think I've finally got some kind of a hold on this idea and where it might go.
> 
> Hope you're enjoying.
> 
> Climbing Trees,
> 
> -Howard R.


End file.
